


Points of Pressure

by Cylin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU, Codependancy (of sort), Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of the Force, M/M, Mental Instability, Mildly Dubious Consent, Phasma is a good friend, Pre-Canon, and I didn'd do her justice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7077355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the beginning of Starkiller Base construction Hux is overworked and overstressed and Kylo Ren's assignment to the Finalizer doesn't help at all. Until it does. They do not talk and, technically, do not touch. But it cuts Hux open and soon they are covered in blood.</p><p>Or how Hux fell in codependency with Kylo Ren without them saying a word to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Points of Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would be worth 90% less without the art by the wonderful [Cylin](http://cylin-aka-ankamo.tumblr.com/). Check her out on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin) too.
> 
> Written as a part of Kylux BigBang 2016.

 

It starts as a tingling sensation at the base of his spine. Not exactly an itch - he doesn’t feel the need to scratch it, anyway - but an awareness. Hux is standing on the bridge, holopad in hand, reading through geological reports on future Starkiller. Officers and technicians mingle around, the Finaliser is in order as it should be. Only he cannot shake this sensation.

It is, really, just two square centimeters on his back, dead on his last vertebra, where he feels the pressure. As if someone has placed their fingers there and holds him. Hux turns around, his overcoat flaring slightly, in an attempt to shake off the feeling, but it persists. It persists throughout the day, during several committees and briefings and other important meeting that he has to look professional at.

It starts to seem comforting when he goes to sleep that night.

 

* * *

 

Over the next week this sensation remains constant. Hux doesn’t sleep much, because the last approvals of planet’s suitability come in and he has so much to do before the construction of the Starkiller can begin. The feeling moves over his body, but the pressure and area are the same - now he knows it’s not something accidental.

During the first few days, the locations stayed innocuous. The base of his spine, the dip of his neck, between his shoulderblades, on his outer thighs. On the fifth, consecutive day, he awoke to find it on his inner thigh, high up. If these were real fingers pressing into his skin, his balls would be resting on them.

Hux jerks off in the shower to this thought. His breathing is tight and the tendons in his neck are tensed. He steers clear of the pressure point and it remains distinct even with his hand on his dick, he doesn’t touch his balls (he could come in minutes if he just let his hand wander).

The rest of his day is spent alternating between razor sharp focus on the first supply and material delivery to the snowy planet and distracted shifting. Hux thinks it might have been a mistake to let the pressure get to him that morning (he doesn’t regret it).

 

* * *

 

Hux doesn’t even notice when the pressure changes, but it begins on his nipples. For a few days it alternates between one and another, which is fucking distracting (Hux would say that his nipples are a bit more sensitive, but, well, he’s sensitive all over, anything can send him over the edge), and then the slow rub begins. It’s a tight slow circle on his left nipple and it doesn’t take long before he can’t deal with it.

The worst, the very worst part is that it’s happening everywhere, on the bridge, in the officers’ mess hall, during briefings. He holds out until 1420 before giving in and locking himself in one of the stalls in a less used bathroom (why the hell hadn’t he gone back to his quarters, this is such a bad idea).

Hux tries to be quick about it, he leans over the seat, one hand on the cold tiles. A shiver works its way through him, starting in his arms and travelling down. It takes a few moments to work a hand into his pants, regulation trousers providing a challenge for his clumsy fingers. It’s one of the few times his uniform makes him feel stuffy.

Then his hand is on his dick and the rubbing at the forefront of his mind. In just the time it takes him to start dripping (embarrassingly short) he can feel the same pressure on his other nipple and it’s. Good. Hux hasn’t let himself feel this indulgent pleasure in a very long time. Most of his sessions being quick and rather perfunctory (not to mention, partnerless. Does he even have a partner right now?).

He can feel it in his teeth, any extended pressure on his nipples usually results in this, an unsettling sensation on the sides of his tongue. He’s desperately swallowing to quell it, but that just makes his mouth dry. His hand is working faster, without any finesse. He’s jerking it up and down his dick, feeling vaguely sick at the brutal grip he holds.

Hux isn’t sure why he does this or why he does it _like_ this. It makes him tremble all over, and unwittingly lean _into_ the invisible pressure on his nipples. It’s over in a second. Unsure when it starts, he just knows he’s suddenly heaving, his diaphragm spasming, every muscle in his body trembling from it.

He slowly releases his dick, tucking himself into his uniform. There’s come all over the seat and fuck he has to clean this mess up (he hates (loves) this).

When he leaves the bathroom, Kylo Ren is leaning to the wall on his left. He levels Hux a heavy gaze (he’s surprisingly handsome without his helmet) and allows a soft smirk. Hux doesn’t know if it’s that or the sudden realization of what Ren has been doing that makes him flush with heat on his ears. He leaves quickly.

 

* * *

 

Hux knows he doesn’t need to examine the preparations himself. A competent crew planetside is making sure all parts of Starkiller are sitting on solid ground. But he really just has to get off ship.

Now that he knows (he thinks he always knew) who was doing this to him (still is), there is no place on Finalizer that he doesn’t scan for Kylo Ren. It is an annoying, unsettling distraction that Hux cannot shake. Especially when the damned bastard escalates.

The pressure now is either moving constantly or expanding. Today there is a palm on his lower back and the distracting (comforting) pressure makes him slump in his chair in the slow swaying AT-AT they’re travelling in.

Most of the planet is covered in a homogenous forest, interspersed with some rock and ice mountains. There is not much to look at. If you’ve seen one tree on this planet, you’ve seen them all.

Whatever last universal ancestor this planet contained, it bears no sign of any sort of evolution. The reports Hux received have explored a possibility of a mass extinction in the recent thousands of years because of dramatic atmosphere change. Currently the planet has reached an equilibrium that keeps it stable.

Maybe that is what attracts Hux here. It is a uniform, strict space with little to no variation in all areas. A planet once teeming with life, now an almost inorganic sphere in the vast space. The First Order will turn this into a piece of technology masquerading as nature. Hux tries to avoid any metaphorical similarities with himself.

The AT-AT is moving jarringly, especially through the difficult terrain of the thick forest. Hux allows himself to settle into the sensation on his back. Kylo Ren isn’t here. But he is. He is always here near Hux, touching him, making him feel.

And Hux cannot fathom why. They had an amicable relationship for the first two weeks of Kylo Ren’s arrival to his ship. They had both disliked, but understood the necessity of cooperating in front of First Order’s councils and officers. Despite their competence and rank, they were still often dismissed because of their age of all things.

Hux is the youngest general the Order has ever seen and is instrumental in the new Starkiller project. That is, likely, the only thing he can admit certain emotions for. He is not sure what this means for Kylo Ren, however. The sith has never had to prove himself to be worthy of the First Order in front of his peers.

The more Hux thinks, the more it feels like maybe, Kylo Ren doesn’t particularly care about others’ opinions. After all, he serves the Supreme Leader and not the Order. How often everyone on this ship forget that they are not one and the same. Despite the recent frequency of Snoke’s callings that Hux has received.

He straightens up even thinking about the being that pretends to collaborate (Hux knows who controls what in this game, he’s aiming for a different position). It seems to shift the hand on his back. Or maybe Kylo Ren has been here with him, in his head.

The hand travels lower, over his buttocks, and starts stroking the back of his thighs. Hux feels a spike in his heartbeat with the idea of it taking the flesh and squeezing tight, leaving a handprint where it rests.

It doesn’t happen, but the phantom arm transverses to the sensitive skin on his inner thighs. It’s a pleasant slow rub, but Hux feels the threat of the power taking his legs and spreading them wide. Providing an embarrassingly inviting view to anyone looking.

It doesn't happen, however. Hux arrives at his destination, the palm on his leg now still. The engineers are waiting for him at the edge of their camp. It is a circular formation, centered around the command tent. And it is a tent, Hux realizes. Maybe this excursion has been a horrible idea.

The rest of the day is spent walking the perimeter of planned structure with geologists and engineers by his side. Hux mostly doesn’t understand their jargon but he grasps the basic (the only relevant) ideas. And sees a lot of marked trees. That really is the only visual thing to show for the beginning of Starkiller. Still, they only turn to the camp when dusk falls.

Hux isn’t used to such harsh cold and mucking around in the snow doesn’t help his mood. Upon their return everyone stays in the command tent, which is only a few degrees warmer, for another hour or so, discussing the possible issues they may face during the first stages of construction.

It ends only when Hux chooses to remind that his planned stay will be four days long and everyone will manage to express their concerns during that time. Then finally Hux gets to retreat into his own tent.

It is a square structure with a raised bed and a portable table, only a few square metres of space. It is considerably warmer than he’s been all day, however. Hux doesn’t know what exact physics help with the piece of technology that heats this, but he is thankful. Unfortunately, there is only one area of group showers and he already dreads that.

There are no good memories for him from the showers back at the academy. For reasons similar to the ones he thinks of in this situation. Hux is a slender man (deep inside he could admit to gangly) because no matter how much he spent in the weight training room, the muscles couldn’t hide his lankiness.

His uniform is tailored specifically so he would look stiffer and more imposing. Naked he is just like any other man, less than most stormtroopers even. He may have to wait till late tonight, before he goes to the showers, though inside he feels a nagging thought that this is just like him _before_ to be nervous of such thing.

Luckily, he has an excuse for himself. Despite his stay planetside, life at Finalizer has not stopped. There are countless reports and briefs Hux has to look over, many operations to schedule, and countless of requests to place for the Starkiller project. He foresees a long night before him.

 

* * *

 

The rest of his stay is similar to the first day. Hux doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t know, but as Captain Phasma has mentioned on the second day of the visit, he makes the workers more eager simply by showing close interest to the project.

Hux doesn’t care if stormtroopers or construction brigades are inspired, their work is oriented to be efficient. But the engineers do benefit from enthusiasm. Oppositely to his father, Hux believes that truly great projects require imagination and dedication, which is exactly what he sees in the people who can show him around for days and talk about smallest technical details and design decisions that make Starkiller project the most thought out construction since the first Death Star.

The pressure is also there. No matter what Hux is doing or with whom, Kylo Ren is beside him. Most nights the hands are moving over his back now. Slow but strong they are so different from what Hux imagined Kylo Ren to be. Nevertheless, the sensation is comforting, holding him through sleep until morning, letting him wake up with a palm between his shoulderblades, a spot of warmth.

Out during the expeditions, however, Kylo Ren is not so tame. Hux spends one day with a hand cradling his balls. While the morning is spent with his cheeks red and the paranoia of someone knowing, in the afternoon it becomes a strange warmth. His dick is no longer stirring and it mostly feels like a warm bath for his balls only. It’s soothing and Hux finds himself mellow, even Phasma notices.

That evening he debates for an hour before addressing Kylo Ren directly in his mind, asking him to stop. He doesn’t give explanations and the request is more of an order. Hux is not surprised (and maybe not even disappointed) when his wish is ignored, but Kylo doesn’t touch his balls again when he’s with someone else (when he’s alone, it’s a whole other story).

Hux thinks whether this sort of strange nonverbal contact they’re having could be considered a relationship. They haven’t directly talked for weeks, but the hands feel intimate in a way that his affairs before haven’t. Hux doesn’t even know if he _could_ stop this thing they’ve got going.

Kylo Ren doesn’t deal well with authority and orders. And Hux doesn’t know where consent comes in here. Because _that’s_ what gets him nervous most. Can he stop this? Does he feel safe in the situation he’s in? (The truth is… yes, he does feel safe, and that’s what scares him. Because any moment this could turn against him, any moment he could no longer want this and couldn’t stop it.)

Most nights Hux distracts himself from such thoughts. The last evening planetside, he even invites Captain Phasma to his personal tent for a discussion about newest stormtrooper recruits. The program is so well established at this point, that there is often little to discuss; however, they always make time to talk over anything that could cause issues.

Hux wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Stormtrooper army is as much Phasma’s creation as it is his. It was her that trained the first batch, her that applied his theories and plans to real human beings. Sometimes Hux thinks that Phasma shielded him, in a way, from all that went on at the beginning.

He knows there are horror stories about the beginning of the program and at first, failures won over the progress they made. Hux doesn’t know where he would be without Phasma’s steel pointed focus and harsh firm hands. He knows there were rumours about them and he knows that Phasma put them to rest quickly.

He appreciates her steadfastness even more now, when every other part of his life is tumultuous and unstable. They talk business for fifteen minutes at most, before Hux finds himself with a glass in his hand, slouched on his bed. Phasma sits in his chair at the desk, which keeps an appropriate but close distance between them.

The point of pressure is now on his left inner elbow, a very innocent touch compared to usual. A touch that became comforting during the last few hours and which (though Hux would never admit it) makes him talk to Phasma about things he has been studiously ignoring throughout this trip.

“I have wandered about how the addition of the sith to our ranks has affected the daily routine for the soldiers. Many seem wary of him” He attempts to begin at least somewhat ambiguously.

“If I could say my mind, General, all of my soldiers are wary of him. He’s unstable” Hux clenches his hand around the thermoglass.

“What do you mean unstable? He seems composed and respectable during officer meetings.”

“I am sure he’s composed around you, but the sudden increase in collateral expenses is mostly due to his temper. I almost lost a trooper to him already. He’s extremely easy to rile up, apparently.” Phasma leans towards Hux slightly, directing her focus to him (damn this, why did he thought it would be a good idea to ask _her_ , she always knew too much).

Hux looks down at his glass, swirling the lightly holochromatic liquid in his glass. “Though he did seem to show an extreme interest in you, General, might I say”. Hux’s gaze shoots up at her.

“What do you mean?”

“There seems to be a pattern of relatively more reasonable behaviour after any encounter with you. I do not know his intentions, but his interest in you is apparent. And not just to me.” Hux can feel a vague nauseous feeling at the place where his ribcage connects in his chest.

“Who else knows?” Asks Hux, a familiar anger donned on his face, but uneasy thoughts circling in his head. Phasma looks at him. Of course she knows about this. Hux doesn’t know what he expected, but it still makes him clench his hand at the side of the chair he’s sitting on. A cheap plasticky construction, similar to the one he feels a part of. A spectacle for all officers to see.

With these _feelings_ he’s forced to endure Hux almost misses the point when pressure shifts from the casual contact to both hands resting weighted on his shoulders. He can almost feel Ren standing behind him and automatically kinks his head back unconsciously to set it on Ren’s stomach but encounters only air.

Phasma chooses that moment to shift towards the exit. “I do not know precisely, General. But not anyone important, for now. I would advise you to act more carefully around each other, but it is mostly Kylo Ren’s fault that _this_ gets noticed at all.” She pulls the tent flap open and the cold wind seems refreshing against the stifling air inside. “Maybe you should talk to him.” She says and leaves him alone.

 

* * *

 

Their trip to the planet ends quickly thereafter. Hux doesn’t see Phasma all throughout the next morning, and anyway, he would not dare discuss such matters in public. The idea of someone _anyone_ knowing is planted in his mind and there’s no forgetting. Hux thinks about it all through the night and the next morning. It is an anxious niggling concern and he recognises it from his childhood with painful clarity.

It is not a surprise that his next week on Finalizer is spent with next to no sleep. Hux works and works and _works_ until work becomes everything on his mind. His report of the visit to the Starkiller construction project is extensive and detailed and all his following reports are similar. Hux knows other officers talk about how it’s impossible for one person to do so much.

Hux also knows he’s awake enough for two people and asleep enough for none.

Perhaps that is the reason that he forgets about the pressure and about Kylo Ren and about himself maybe. Because next time he wakes up at 0413 with a crick in his neck from falling asleep at his desk, there is a warm pressure all over his body. It’s been almost two weeks that he’s slept approx. three hours per night. And he often confuses the signals his body is sending. He _knows_ he’s awake and not warm or soft or comfy but his body refuses to acknowledge this.

Hux barely drags himself to his bed, before kicking of his clothes, fingers clumsy and stiff, muscles weak. He sprawls out naked and allows whomever is doing this to tuck the blanket around him. His mind feels suspiciously foggy and squishy and it doesn’t seem real.

It is, possibly, the start of a long descent into weakness. Kylo’s touch is all Hux thinks about. He waits every evening for it to spread, to encase him. Hux only rises from his desk when he feels two palms on his shoulders. And only pulls of his clothes when his first button is undone.

The one night when it doesn’t come Hux is left bereft, abandoned. He doesn’t go to sleep, doesn’t even rise from his work. Only when his light automatically rise to 70 percent at the beginning of his next shift cycle, he drags himself to the shower. The water is hot for the first 15 minutes as per regulations. After that it turns lukewarm. Hux is still half dry. He leant against a wall just as he stepped in and now the side of him under the stream is red and sensitive.

His mind is blank, his skin is tight, Hux feels empty. There is something missing and he isn’t sure what. Something small in the back of his mind wiggles and whispers. Hux wants to search for the thing he lost. He want to drop on the floor, tiles freezing his knees, and crawl around until he finds the pieces of himself.

He stays like this for so long, that the water turns completely cold. He’s sure he already late, but he can’t bring himself to move. Only when he feels a source of heat on his shoulder (no longer under water, huh) he feels compelled to lean on it. This turns into a tumbling, awkward fall into a stretch of black coarse fabric and hard plastics and limbs and heat heat _heat_.

There is some fumbling involved in getting to his bed, the lights are dimmed. And then there is a curious, soft pressure against his hands. Hux shifts as much as he can, and-- yes, it’s some sort of animal, an _orange_ one.

Oh how he hates it, his reaction sudden and painful and Hux is in the academy, ginger ginger _ginger_. And then his mind is filled with liquid gold, soft light, shadows.

 

* * *

 

Hux wakes up to a five percent dusk in his quarters, a bright, blinking neon dot on his desk and _something_ at his stomach. His head feels like something heavy is hanging on his browbone. It’s pulling his lids down and over his aching eyes, but he also feels clear, more rested than he’s been past several weeks.

The thing under the blanket with him seems to be some quadruped with very soft, fluffy fur. It’s delicate, the slim narrow head resting against his lower stomach feels almost dangerous, with his hulking shape besides it. But it is also kind in a way Hux struggles to define.

He’s silently thankful for the distraction, because humiliation is already burning on low in his throat. Whatever _that_ in the shower was, it made him late, and he’s quite sure it was Kylo Ren who put him to bed.

Hux doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to go and face questions and tasks and reports he has to do.

Doesn't’ want to face Kylo Ren with his fucking ridiculous smugness and silence.

Who fucking gave him a _pet_.

It takes all his strength to detach himself from the animal and shuffle to the desk. His datapad blinks notifications at Hux and the light seems so unthreatening in the face of all that’s probably waiting for him. There hasn’t been a day since his assignment to Finalizer that he’s missed his shift on accident. Maybe he can pass it off as a medical leave or something at least slightly less humiliating.

To his surprise, there aren’t many more messages than there would be after a day away from his datapad. Hux checks and apparently there is a notification from himself that he’ll be unavailable for two full days.

It must have been Kylo Ren that sent this, even though it’s unclear, how he could access Hux’s communication channels or mimic his style so perfectly.

The small numerals on his screen proclaim it to be 0114. It makes Hux feel tired again.

He lies down at his bed. No one is expecting him for another day at least, so there is no purpose to getting up. The animal shuffles closer to him and pushes its wet, cold nose at his cheek. Hux draws his hand up, palm cupped around the small, delicate head of the creature, so that one soft pointy ear brushes his fingers and another touches the centre of his palm.

He isn’t sure, what happens, but the next thing he knows, there are scratches down his face, a dreadful screeching in his ears. It feels like the beast’s skull is trying to escape it’s flesh, caught in the dead grip of Hux’s hand. Drops of liquid are streaming down his face and Hux is confused for a second, if the animal scratched that deep, before he realizes that the strange shaking in his chest is sobbing.

He lets go, the tears mixing with blood from the scratches.

 

* * *

 

Hux is on his knees, palms flat on the ground, eyes lowered. He’s been kneeling for hours it seems, but the creature doesn’t appear. Hux knows it’s under his bed, but there is no sight nor sound of it, and he’s afraid to risk his hand again, now that it’s decorated in scratches.

It feels like-- failure, Hux thinks. Like a deep void inside his chest has opened. And he is _furious_ with himself that a mundane feeling affects him so deeply. He thinks about what has started this and thinks that he should hate Kylo Ren. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Hux continues the soft coaxing words (he’s sure it sound like begging) for the creature. He wants the warmth and softness now that it’s gone. He isn’t sure what made him do it, what made him snap and crush it’s head in his hand, it felt so _delicate_. Like yourself, something whispers in his mind.

But before he can pursue this train of thought, the door to his quarters open. Hux’s panic is only staved by the soft chrome of Phasma’s helmet. He thinks about the picture he makes.

On his knees beside his bed, hair disheveled, only in his undershirt, tears and scratches on his face.

For a few moments Phasma stands there still, before her shoulders dip slightly, like she’s sighing at him. Then she unhooks the latch on her helmet and pulls it off, revealing a blond military crop and static slanted eyes.

“What have you done now, General?” She says, before placing the helmet on his desk and stepping up to him. “Stand up, please.” But Hux feels his legs giving out instead, and suddenly he’s slumped at her feet, hot cheek planted into her cool shin guard.

“It’s his fault” he murmurs.

“I assume you’re talking about Kylo Ren.” Phasma shifts and a plate overlap digs into Hux’s skin. It feels feverish.

Phasma bends down and hooks her gloved hands into his armpits. A shiver spreads from the cool metal digging into his skin, stretching his joints, she’s lifting him up, until he’s sitting on his bed.

“It-- he stopped doing it” Hux whispers. After a moment of tense silence, Phasma asks. “Stopped doing what, sir?”

“Touching me. You said that-- that they knew, and Kylo was very soft and I thought it didn’t mean anything, but it must have, because now he’s not touching me and it feels cold.” Phasma sighs and pulls a plastic chair from Hux’s desk to sit down. She starts unhooking her armor plates. “Tell me, General.” Her voice sounds resigned.

 

* * *

 

Telling Phasma is strange. Hux struggles to put the thing between him and Kylo to words. It’s intimate, he feels _exposed_ when he talks. Phasma remains silent but non-judging. It seems she doesn’t really care what Hux is talking about and that makes this easier.

The silence after he finishes is soft. Phasma is sitting on his bed, while Hux has crawled under the blanket and pulled his knees to his chest at some point. The weight under his diaphragm has seemed to lighten somewhat, while he was talking and now his eyes are feeling heavy, skin under them tight and itchy.

“And what are you doing here, Phasma?” Hux asks.

“I got a tip off” she says. “It appears Kylo Ren has been concerned about you.” Hux’s breath catches in his throat.

The blinking light on his desk is now red. Hux’s holopad has low battery and he should plug it in for tomorrow if he wants to get any work done. But does it matter now? Hux turns over and attempts to replace Kylo’s touch with the thought of his concern.

It doesn’t work much, but it gets easier after a while. Does it matter, if Kylo touches him all the time? Yes, yes, it does, he thinks. His body seems unreal when Kylo isn’t touching it, when there is no other consciousness brushing his own.

It seems only a few months have passed since the start of whatever they have now started, but this is _new_ , novel, unexpectedly necessary after a lifetime of absence.

Hux turns over and tries to project his thoughts to Kylo. He feels silly, it’s annoyingly like talking to himself, which is a habit Hux tried to beat out of himself for the longest time in academy.

And then he _feels_ it. There is something at the nape of his necks. It feels like breathing. Hux pulls the blanket tighter, stretching it across his back, like the thin, economical fabric can imitate someone pressing against him.

Phasma has taken out her own holopad, still sitting on Hux’s bed and is reading something after lowering her light to twenty percent. Hux feels _safe_ , a feeling he has forgotten.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Kylo touch from that point on becomes more a necessity than an inconvenience. All that Hux has gone through since this started is-- not that much, when he thinks about it. He is unbalanced, unstable, unpredictable. Often, he thinks about Kylo must have touched a part of him that’s not supposed to be touched. There must have been something rotten inside him, because it feels unnervingly familiar.

On the good days the pressure simply feels comforting, but on the bad days it’s the only thing keeping him upright and moving.

Hux isn't sure what characterizes the bad days. He feels feverish, perhaps, like time has stuck at 0114 and his skin started stretching to accommodate the seconds that don't leave his body and instead accumulate in his tendons and muscles and the shakiness of his stomach.

Kylo’s more intrusive actions are rarer and Hux feels himself anxiously anticipating all that they entail. The recklessness, the thought that they could happen anywhere, his own powerlessness, and Kylo’s confident, amused, distant commands.

The times that Kylo writes the commands to him through the comm system or gently guides his hand, Hux feels like a child, like he cannot do this on his own and has to have someone helping him. He shakes out of his mind with the intensity, his consciousness losing shape and form, sliding flush with what he perceives as Kylo’s mind. It’s sex, he supposes, but it’s so different from what he had before.

 

* * *

 

The moment of realization comes unexpected. Hux is standing in his bathroom, the lights are dim and he’s halfway through scraping off his shadow of a beard when the idea crosses his mind.

Hux sees himself somewhere in an open space. Rocks and rain and clouds make up his immediate landscape and he’s-- alone.

It takes him by surprise, how calm and _right_ he feels in this space he imagined for himself. It’s the rare point in his day when he doesn’t feel Kylo’s touch anywhere on his body and now he feels regret, instead of fear.

Hux looks down at his razor, the ancient thing, smooth steel glinting back at him and for a second he thinks of all the things that he could do away from here. All things he could feel.

He finishes shaving distracted. The confines of Hux’s personal quarters feel especially claustrophobic after that brief moment of freedom in his mind. Only putting on his armor - coat, gloves, boots - all of it pushes Hux back into the limited space of his body.

 

* * *

 

It’s strange how a single thought can root itself so deep and so quickly, that it seemingly replaces a quintessential part of a being. He thinks it happens when he’s sleeping. Because every morning he feels more tired and restless.

His thoughts of greatness, become thoughts of responsibility. Hux doesn’t _want_ any more responsibility. He wonders who inside him wanted it before. Starkiller becomes a looming mass of _unfinished_ and _great_ and _heavy_. It weighs on his mind and his body and his arms drop to his sides because it’s easy to mistake this for honor and he doesn’t want to carry it anymore.

This changes when he runs into Kylo Ren for the first time in months. They’re always touching, but Hux hasn’t seen him since that night in the shower. He has forgotten that Kylo Ren in outside world is a sharp edged, void, violently crashing into everything that displeases it.

Though their meeting is not really a run in, he thinks, as Kylo catches him exiting his quarters and pushes them back inside. Hux hits his shoulder on the doorframe and stumbles backwards into the dark. With lights at zero percent he feels disoriented and after doors shut there isn’t a sliver of light, he knows his eyes won’t get used to this absolute darkness.

For a brief moment Hux can only hear himself breathing, his heart beating in his ears. Kylo’s grip on his arm feels intimate and familiar, though the layers that separate them are alien.

It feels like a dam. There is a river inside of Hux and it is raging above the construction, only order and silence reign down it’s current after the dam. And Kylo, he makes it swirl and swell and push. With him in Hux’s vicinity Hux can’t ignore the river inside himself.

“The river is a good way to put it. Your mind is just like that.” a casual, cold, insulated voice says. And Hux gets so _angry_. How dare Kylo get into his head, how dare he comment on what he himself caused. It’s fury, he thinks (but it’s panic, he knows). And it makes his limbs go cold, like ice water started flowing through his veins.

“Don’t be so angry, pet.” Kylo says, clearly having heard Hux’s words. “You invited me into your head yourself. Whatever you say now, you wanted it.” He sounds amused.

And Hux can feel himself teetering on some precipice without knowing what’s on either side. His voice is cold when he speaks. “Get out. Get out of my head and get out of my quarters, Kylo Ren, or Snoke won’t find your pieces after I’m done.” For a short second there’s just silence. In the dark, Kylo and Hux seem a million miles apart and breathing in each other.

“Very well.” Kylo’s voice is inscrutable. “I will go, General Hux.”

And with a beeping noise of the closing door and a sliver of light, Hux is left alone.

Their first relatively normal conversation has lasted just a few seconds. And Hux already managed to fuck everything up.

 

* * *

 

Hux doesn’t go back to the state he was in during their first separation. But this feels-- colder. Kylo is not just absent in touch, but in mind as well. Hux didn’t know the new _freedom_ he felt was Kylo, because it felt so natural, that doubting himself didn’t cross his mind.

Now Hux is trapped. For the past three days his back has tensed more and more without any inward or outward stimulus for him to react. He can’t sleep and the worst thing that could happen is breaking down like the last time.

It takes a day of distraction through meetings and agonizing doubt before Hux schedules an appointment with a masseuse. While such luxuries were common and expected among officers, Hux never could force himself to go through it. Just the thought of someone touching him makes him shiver in disgust.

Even now, just before stepping into the masseuse’s office, he feels the crawling down his back. The fluffy bathrobe he’s wearing shows off his lean neck and narrow calves. It’s too big, Hux thinks (but something inside whispers that it’s him that’s small).

The woman who’s going to work on him is refreshing, though Hux can see nothing redeeming about the fact she chose to touch people all day as her profession. Her smile is reserved but confident. She’s anomalous in a strict, clean shapes of the Finalizer.

The room is warm and a sweet, subtle fragrance hangs in the air, likely intended to relax. Hux feels like a string instrument tuned too high.

He feels out of place, as if he should be above these things, feelings and desires fit for humans, not _ideals_. This makes Hux equal, at least with his masseuse, if not with the masses of officers serving on Finalizer.

However, he can admit, that the woman knows her job. Fifteen minutes in and he’s already feeling his muscles unknotting, the tension draining away from his body. It is strange how the tension in his mind remains.

She chooses to speak then. “I have always maintained that all the tension I cannot beat out resides inside the minds, not bodies, on this ship, sir.” She hums before pushing deeper at the knot down his back. “Some people come every day, but I see it’s their minds that need fixing, worrying about every shred of their influence, isn’t it tiring?”

She doesn’t seem to be wanting any concrete answer, as for the last half an hour she’s silent. Hux cannot stop thinking about what she has said, however. It is true, that as the pain of his body drained, his temples started tingling with what he could only consider an oncoming migraine.

It is not the loss of Kylo’s touch that made him incapable of sleep, but the loss of his mind against Hux’s. The intimately familiar and _natural_ feeling of being a part of something strong and delicate at the same time. Familiar and foreign.

Hux hopes (silently, he doesn’t want Kylo hearing him across the ship) for this to end, for their coexistence to claim him again.

 

* * *

 

Hux tries to pretend it’s a surprise to him as well, when it becomes clear that Kylo will accompany them to the upcoming landing on the Starkiller again.

Hux has stayed in the Finalizer because that’s where the main command centre is, and Finalizer stayed around the planet because it was convenient and the ship was supposed to be secret. There wasn’t a moment in a cycle that you couldn’t see the monochromatic surface of the planet from at least one point of the ship.

Except the hangars, where landing ports were connected. For all the time that Finalizer was hiding in the planet shadow, the hangars were turned away into the always encompassing emptiness of space. The traffic to the planet was pathetic enough that it made sense for them to be turned to the higher traffic areas.

Now, as Hux is standing next to his shuttle, the open hangar looks like a huge gaping maw of some beast of blackness and space that wants to consume him. The last preparations for their week long trip are almost done and Hux pretends to read something on his datapad, while the crew load up the last of the cargo.

He knows that Kylo has already left in a small long distance shuttle, which makes him think of the rest of the plans that the sith might have.

Kylo’s touch might be lost both in body and in mind, but it still makes Hux feel better, when he knows Kylo to be in walking distance. Not anymore, he supposes. Now that Kylo has so clearly showed himself to have lost interest in Hux. More than a week has passed since their encounter in Hux’s quarters and he hasn’t seen or heard him.

The rest of their trip passes automatically, because while it is a significant detour from Hux’s daily routine, he still has to do much of the same things. The data on his pad starts making sense when something inside him realizes that he’s enroute to Kylo.

For some reason their landing on the planet feels like a beginning of something different, something permanent, Hux’s current reality to be left a dark stain in his past.

The landscape that greets them is as harsh as the last time. Only now the unnaturalness of what’s being done is shouted straight at them.

The cargo ship they’re on releases a small surface shuttle hovering just atop the trees. Hux can see a deep dark ravine, from his place above, but for the most part, his vision is obscured by the unnatural evenness of this part of the planet.

The surface they land on, while covered in dark dead soil, seems hollow, sheets of metal stretching miles away from the edge. Hux feels like he’s taken a butcher knife and cut away at the already thin pieces of the planet’s history and dignity, so similar to what Kylo has done to him. (But Kylo would have stopped anytime Hux asked, he now knows.)

Being back at Starkiller is like returning to the simpler times of his first visit. Hux didn’t have any expectations concerning Kylo then, no worries about them being apart. He wants to say that the situation at the Finalizer is also left behind, but there is no _situation_. It’s all in his head.

The meetings with engineers and architects no longer feel important too. This planet is no longer real, and so is Hux. He talks and talks about useless minutiae and feels himself becoming redundant. He _knows_ he’s not, but Starkiller could easily be finished without General Hux right now.

Hux feels, he thinks, like this planet must be feeling now - hollow and purposeless. But! For Hux, this is so _refreshing_. After narrow claustrophobic hallways of Finalizer, black imperial metal plates covering electronic guts of the ship, this feels like freedom, like the cold, simplistic space he found for himself.

 

* * *

 

It takes three days for Hux and Kylo to meet. Hux is in the command tent, it’s already dark, so there’s no one around. He only stayed here to finish his report so he wouldn’t have to take it to his temporary quarters. It’s been a long day and the empty tent looks abandoned and uninhabited. Hux feels alone.

But then suddenly he feels like he isn’t and the presence is so _familiar_.

“How long have you been here?” Hux’s voice sounds crisp and clear in the dead space between them. Kylo has his mask on, his body is still. After a few minutes Hux leans back down over the report, even if his eyes are no longer following the words. The metaphorical clock is ticking and Hux feels like it’s ticking down to some inevitable implosion that will take down him and maybe Kylo, if Kylo is still in this as much as Hux is.

“Do you still want this?” Kylo finally asks, but Hux doesn’t raise his head. There must be a right answer and a wrong one to this, but he cannot distinguish between the two, and anyway, Kylo must have already taken this from his mind already.

“It doesn’t matter if I have taken it, does it? The last time. I’m not going to do anything before I hear it from you.” Kylo is moving across the tent, because his voice is coming closer, but Hux squeezes his eyes closed and pretends that it’s a hallucination, a fantasy, a dream and he’s in his quarters and it’s late at night and that this will not change anything. Because he’s afraid it will.

He can feel Kylo stop behind his back. “Can I touch you?” Kylo asks, quietly. Hux nods. Kylo’s hands are warm and bare and even through his uniform he can feel the lack of leather on two solid handprints on his shoulder blades.

They are traveling upwards, to his bare neck. And when they touch, Hux drops the datapad from his hands. A soft vibration works its way down to Hux’s calves, the skin seemingly burned and soothed at the same time. Kylo’s palms are _hot_.

He wraps his hands around Hux’s throat, fingertips meeting at Hux’s larynx and trachea. Hux’s shoulders slowly relax and drop down. The effect of three perfect minutes like this is more clearing and refreshing than an hour at the masseuse.

But it makes Hux’s mind feel like swirling clouds of steam. Burning hot and hazy. He asks “Come with me?”. And after a brief squeeze Kylo pulls him up.

 

* * *

 

When Hux is finally layed out naked for Kylo on his own bed, he feels more exposed than ever. Hux’s mind has been a rental shuttle for so many ideologies and doctrines that having Kylo there is not only familiar, but actually feels _fitting_ like the _home_ that everyone is supposed to miss.

His body, on the other hand-- no one ever touched him and meant it.

Kylo is still mostly dressed, but he does remove his helmet and robe, his gloves forgotten back at the tent. He slides his palm up Hux’s ribcage, fingers stopping just below his nipple.

“Tell me you want this.” Kylo murmurs into the air between them.

“I do” he says, I do, just-- Kylo’s fingers slip up to the soft pink skin, making it harden into a nub. He plays with it so softly, compared to their all other encounters. There doesn’t seem to be anything sexual in his touch. Kylo’s eyes have followed his hand, but now he looks straight up into Hux’s eyes and his mouth bends into a weird loopy shape, which Hux identifies as a smile.

He takes Hux’s hand and guides it gently to his own cock. Taking himself in hand seems so _natural_ between them, but so strange with his knuckles brushing Kylo’s stomach. His movements are slow, his breath hitches now and then. Hux want to _hurry_ , but Kylo is looking at him and Hux doesn’t speed up even when he’s so close to falling he can feel it in the back of his throat, curling his toes, vibrating down his calves and up his tailbone. And after he’s shaken through the climax teary eyed and whimpering quietly, Kylo pulls his wet hand off and lays it to the side.

And this is not them, Hux thinks. Why are they so gentle to each other?

“I want it to be so” Kylo whispers in his ear.

“And?” Hux says quietly into the air between them, still drunk on this fake feeling of happiness. “And nothing, I do what I want. Always. Now.” Kylo replies. His speech is clipped, like there’s something in his throat, trying to escape as a confession of sorts, which Hux ignores.

“Even if that something is me?” He breathes into Kylo’s hair, where he laid his head down on Hux’s chest.

“No. You must know I would do whatever you want. You wanted me to go so I did. And now I’m back because you want me to.”

“You gave me a pet.” Hux says suddenly, remembering the ginger creature. He doesn’t think he’s alright yet. “It’s dead now.”

“No. Phasma took it.” Kylo raises his head to look Hux in the eye. “It is fine. You could get it back if you want to.”

“Why would I ever want to?” Hux feels slightly loopy.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine” _You’re here_.

 

* * *

 

They always sleep in the same bed since that night. Even though Kylo keeps irregular hours and often is absent, when Hux goes to sleep, they feel connected. Like Kylo has left an imprint of himself in the sheets, which Hux can press against and breathe in Kylo’s metallic, scorched scent.

Their minds feel like one as well. Hux thinks, often, why he feels freer when there is someone in his brain. Why he feels lighter and more alone when Kylo’s observing his every thought. Why when they touch Hux finally feels full, instead of crowded.

It only takes five days of sleeping next to each other, sharing minds and bodies, feeling things thought impossible for both of them, for Kylo to suggest _it_ through their link.

It makes Hux break out in cold sweat, storm out of their bed and find Phasma. She’s outside the troopers’ quarters, doing the rounds or some other routine task of hers at 0013 and doesn’t even react to him coming up in a thin shirt and his unlaced boots. Did his breakdowns become so common, Hux thinks. He isn’t sure what makes him tell her about Kylo’s suggestion (or maybe just imply slightly, Phasma is very intuitive), before she silences him.

“I’ve come to First Order because there wasn’t anything else for me. And I wanted to protect what I thought to be right. But this weapon, General Hux, it’s not like my Stormtroopers, it fires indiscriminately and widely, who knows what can be caught up in its beam. This is not war, it’s slaughter.” And Hux looks at her and maybe, for the first time in years, sees her as a _person_ , not as a captain or a stormtrooper, or a friend.

He knows her ideas _are_ ideals and let’s her think that his are too. But in the sanctuary of his (and Kylo’s) mind he confesses to himself that he doesn’t _care_. He afraid and running away and there is nothing noble in his motivations.

 

* * *

 

“You’ve been planning this since the beginning, weren’t you?” Hux has looked around their shuttle as they boarded. It’s very small, but surprisingly well stocked. They could live here for a few weeks.

“Maybe. I wanted to have a plan.”

“A plan for what?”Hux is standing next to the viewport, his back to Kylo and to the unfamiliar choking emotion that he’s trying to keep down. Nothing reflects on the glass, their shuttle is dark.

“I wouldn’t have stayed with the First Order anyways. I just prepared for you as well.”

“You knew I’d be so weak as to run away?” Hux asks.

“Both of us are.” Kylo answers.

The silence stretches for some time. Hux turns his head to look at Kylo. This, what they’re doing is reckless and stupid and so illogical. Anything would have been better. “Why did I chose this, Kylo?” Hux asks.

Kylo’s answer is slow. “I think it’s so we could be together?” They look at each other for quite some time, seemingly lost in their own thoughts. “Maybe we chose this so we wouldn’t have to make this mistake on our own.”

“But how long before they find us, Kylo?”  
“Long enough. We don’t have any plans besides hiding and space is vast.” Kylo’s hair curl and Hux wants to tangle his fingers and hide in it. It takes him a moment to realise that he can. So he does, he sits down besides Kylo and pushes his face into his hair. The stars stay still outside their viewport, but Hux knows they’re moving at breakneck speed. Towards a cold and still space he has imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> My (hwlr) [tumblr](http://hwlr.tumblr.com/).  
> And [Cylin's](http://cylin-aka-ankamo.tumblr.com/) again :)


End file.
